


To dance with a girl

by RGmolpus



Series: Innocent Bystanders [10]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Other Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RGmolpus/pseuds/RGmolpus
Summary: Gregor promised to dance with a girl at her quinceanera.  Being a gentleman, he plans to keep that promise.
Series: Innocent Bystanders [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1305179
Comments: 65
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Hard Decisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/134744) by [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne). 



Gregor kept looking at a page in his calendar. Nine years before, he'd put a note in it, for a date then so many years away.

Now that day was near. A promise, whispered on a summer's night, to a girl almost to young to understand - a promise he knew he needed to keep.

But how?

He could wipe the day clean, with no-one to know... but it would be a memory always glowing like a alarm bulb in the night. A spot of stain on Steggies side. That scratch on the bed frame, from when he bounced once to much...

It needed a plan. Uncle Aral always made a plan; he'd sit, sometimes all afternoon, making a plan when something hard came up, then he'd start giving orders and the problem went away. His plan told people what to do, and then everything was good again.

Gran'uncle Piotr did the same thing, with his horses. He made a plan about training his horses, and stuck to it. He planned Gregor's training to ride horses, and how to care for them. His plan included Gregor shoveling out the stables one summer day; it was later that he realized the lesson about being responsible that Piotr had taught him.

So, to plan.

How to get Regent Aral and Tante Cordelia to let him ride real far into the Dendarii mountains to see his friends up at the camp Esterhazy had taken him to? Maybe not ride, going by aircar or flyer might be better.... but riding in, like Grand'uncle Piotr had done to find him, like Captain Vortalon did back in Emperor Xav's day - now that would be bully!

They wouldn't let him go alone.... no way! At least four Armsmen would go... plus he'd have to ask Count Vorkosigan if he could visit his district. Piotr would let him go, he'd offer to escort him there, which would be good - Gregor realized that he really didn't know where the cattle ranch was, not to find it on a map.

Then there would be supplies. And a cook. And a wagon. And horses! 

He knew he had horses. Big, black ones the guards rode in parades, but the only horses he rode were really tame ones at G'uncle Piotr place on the lake. He couldn't just order G'uncle Piotr to give him a horse to ride... that wouldn't be right. 

This needed lots more planning. Aral took time to plan, so he could to.

Gregor grabbed a sheet of paper and started to make a list...


	2. A Plan, A Man, A relative butts in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan appears.

A plan needs to be written down. Then you can strike off each step as it's done, or know what has to be done.

Simple to say, but hard to do.

Gregor sat that morning making lists of what he thought would have to be done. He first tried to put everything in order, but eight lines down, he realized that he'd missed a step - so he tried to inset it in between steps five and six.

This didn't work right. He had to mark in so small, he couldn't really read what he'd written.

Grab another sheet, start again.

This time, he numbered the steps, and when, fifteen lines in, he needed an extra step, he marked it '14b'. He'd have to make a new copy, putting that line in it's proper place, but that could wait for later.

Slowly, thinking about the other trips he'd taken, Gregor created a long list of things that had to be done before he could keep his promise. It wasn't easy; remembering all the things other people had done, or must have done, all the cooking and packing, and setting schedules. Uncle Aral had spent a whole day, making plans, and giving orders. Gregor realized that it wasn't just the people who were going that would be busy - people like the kitchen staff would have to do lots of work, making food, packing it up, all those dishes and plates! Then there'd be more work when he returned; all the extra washing and cleaning.

He realized that his going anywhere made a lot of work for people he didn't know.

He should find them, some day, and thank them. That'd be right; he felt. They did all that work, and never got thanked.

He was on step fifty, thinking if he needed a step about his shoes, when the door opened. Gregor looked up; a bit surprised. The servants always knocked before they opened doors; and apologized for the interruption. This time, it wasn't a servant, or someone important like Uncle Aral, or Uncle Simon. It was Cousin Ivan.

Ivan looked sad; scared. Cousin Miles wasn't with him; usually it was Miles, who opened doors without knocking, surprising everyone. He bounced into rooms; as fast as a cat. 

It was Ivan, just peeking around the door.

"Hi, Ivan. Come in." Ivan as quite most of the time. Miles chattered on and on, so Ivan didn't need to speak. Alone, Ivan stayed silent, trying to be a ghost - hiding in plain sight. 

Miles grabbed all the attention he could, like the cream cakes he'd snatch off a platter before it was offered to him. 

"It'll be ok?"

"Yes, I'm just making a list. It's not homework." 

Ivan slid in, closing the door silently. He came over to the desk; looking at all the sheets of paper scattered about. "What'ya doing, Cousin Gregor." Ivan waited a moment, pulling something up from his memory "Uh, I mean, Sire."

Gregor smiled a bit. "You don't need to be formal, Ivan, not when we're alone. If Uncle Aral, or Minister Reynold or some stuffy adult is around, then you gotta."

"Especially if my mother's here. She pops my bottom if I don't say the right thing to people."

"She does the same thing to me - well, with her face, at least."

"Mothers can be mean."

"Yes, but I wish I had a mother to curl up with when it's storming and rainin' and lightning and all. Then they're just what you want."

Gregor remembered his mother, how she'd reached for him as Negri took him away. The Armsmen dragged Mama away... He'd lit a flame for her later, when he'd come back from the mountains, but that wasn't the same as seeing her again. Droushy was good to him, but she wasn't Mama.

Gregor hid that back in his mind. "Where's Miles. The two of you are always glued together. "

Ivan looked at the floor. "Miles got hurt. They took him to the 'ospital. I wasn't playing with him or anything, he was just standing there, and his foot broke. Sergent Bothari picked him up, and took him way. Everybody left me alone in the hallway. I didn't do anyhing!" Ivan's face was going red; he was about to cry. Anytime something happened to Miles, Ivan got hurt as well. Not injured, but he felt Miles's pain. 

"Come here, Ivan." Gregor pointed to the space next to his chair. He turned to face to Ivan.

Ivan slowly walked over, trying hard not to cry. 'Vor don't Cry' was a lesson that was pressed into all their ears every day; 'Take your licks and smile.'

Gregor hated those lessons. 

Gregor waited for Ivan to stop; he reached out and gave Ivan a big hug. "Miles has broken himself before, and it's not your fault. You can cry if you want, You need to." He gave his cousin a hard hug.

Ivan wrapped his arms around Gregor; pressing his face into Gregor's coat. He started to shake, and cry; trying not to wail. 'Ivan's really hurting; really hurting deep.' 

Gregor knew he had a responsibility to Ivan and Miles, his Cousins; but the meaning of that hadn't hit home until now. Ivan needs to be hugged, to know someone cares. I have Droushy; and Tante Cordelia, but Ivan doesn't have anyone to really hug when things are hurting. 

He carefully worked an arm loose, and hit a call button. When the reply came, he asked, in as level a voice as he could, to have Miss Drousnakovi to bring tea and cookies to his study. He wrapped his arm around Ivan, and pressed his head down onto Ivan's. 

He held that pose until the door opened with a knock, and Miss Drousnakovi - 'Droushy' peeked in. she could see Gregor was at his desk, his arms wrapped around someone small - and with her experience - had a face covered in tears. She thought to herself - Oh, someone needs a cookie and a nose blown, with certainty! - 

She came in through the door, carrying the tea tray; placing it on the end of Gregor's desk. She went and knelt next to Gregor, taking the small form of Ivan from Gregor; wrapping her arms around him, passing her hand over the crying boy's head.

"Now, now, it's all right, Ivan, it'll be all right. You look like you had a good cry, you needed it." she looked up at Gregor. He mouthed 'Miles broke something. Ivan was there'

She stood, pulling Ivan into her arms. She rocked him back and forth, cooing to him - until Ivan opened his red, puffy eyes. He stiffened, in surprise - and a bit of embarrassment - finding himself in Miss Droushnakovi's - now Mrs. Koudelka's arms. 

He struggled a bit until she put him down, accepting the handkerchief she pressed to his nose to help his blow. She wiped his face clean with the other end of the handkerchief. 

"You look like you need a cup of tea, and a cookie, Lord Ivan, You just sit down - " Droushy pulled a chair over - "and I'll pour. How does that sound?"

Ivan managed a 'Thank you' as he sat down. Gregor grabbed a few cookies for himself, and waited for Droushy to pour Ivan a cup before he served himself. Pouring his own tea, and taking his own cookies off a tray wasn't much, in controlling his life, but it was a point of control he refused to abandon.

Droushy held a tissue to Ivan's nose again, to sop up the last from his tears. Ivan sipped his tea, and took a cookie from the plate Droushy held for him.

"Now, Lord Ivan, would you like to tell me what happened? You and Lord Miles were playing somewhere..."

"We were in the north hallway - a - corridor, playing next to one of those big desks along the wall. Miles stood on tip-toe to look at one of the paperweights on the desk, when his foot went crack and he almost fell over. "

Ivan looked like he wanted to cry again. "Miles _knows_ he has to be careful, He knows he can't stand on his toes. I could have pulled the paperweight over for him to look at it, me or Sergeant Bothari, but Miles had to do it himself."

Ivan was vibrating with anger, it seemed to Gregor.

"Sergeant Bothari grabbed Miles and ran up the corridor to get to the Infirmary. The Armsman who was with us looked at me - " Ivan stopped to catch his breath - "Like it was my fault. IT wasn't, it wasn't my fault!" his voice had risen to a shriek. 

To Gregor it was plain, Ivan though he'd be blamed for Miles's broken foot. Ivan got blamed, in silence, for many of Miles's injuries. Ivan was blamed, so many times, just because he was there.

Nobody apologized to Ivan. Nobody hugged him, and told him it wasn't his fault. Nobody cared for Ivan like they cared for Miles - or him.

Ivan got left out.

Gregor looked at Droushy; raising his eyelids. She understood his message. She took Ivan into her arms, and gave him a big hug. "Miles knows he has to be careful; and this is what happens when he forgets. I believe you when you say Miles did it to himself. It wasn't your fault, I believe you, Gregor believes you. Sergeant Bothari will tell everyone it wasn't your fault. You don't need to be afraid, or angry, or scared." She had her arms around his head, pulling it into her bosom. "It'll all be alright. It'll be alright." she kept rocking him back and forth, rubbing her hand up and down his back. 

Ivan had been gasping, gulping air. In Droushy's arms he started breathing easy, Droushy looked at his face, and held his teacup to his lips. He took a large swallow. 

Gregor could see Ivan had relaxed. - an Adult believed him! He wasn't in trouble; Droushy would stand up for him! Even his mother listened to Droushy. Even Uncle Aral and Tante Cordelia. He was safe -.

Gregor remembered this anger, his fury, long ago in General Piotr's lap, when he'd been told his mother was gone. How he'd howled and hit Piotr in his rage. How he'd been held, with the General's chin on his head, until the tears stopped, and he could breath clearly.

He'd loved the old man from that day forward; Count Piotr had been the one man who he could go to, at any time, when he was scared, frightened, confused, or angry. Droushy was the other; but - Ivan didn't have someone like that. He was alone; he had a nanny, but she did what Tante Alys said. Ivan didn't have a lap to retreat to; nor a chin that would press itself on his head.

Gregor added something to his list - Ivan needed Droushy; more than Gregor needed her. He slid a bit of paper over, scrawled a few words on it 'Take care of Ivan, Droushy.' He slid the scrap over to Droushy, who read it with a glance. 

She smiled at Gregor; "My pleasure, Sire, my pleasure."


	3. New Bull in an old paddock.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans don't matter if Aral and Simon don't agree - for another few years.

Every weekday morning at 0900, Aral, Simon and Gregor meet for a briefing. It's on the schedule for two hours; but it lasts as long as it lasted.

Gregor was uneasy about the meetings at first; he knew he was finally seeing the real operations of the Empire - and his district. He recalled 'One should not know how sausages or laws are made." with intensity.

The briefings weren't as interesting as he thought; lots of stuff about monetary policy; how tax revenues changed month to month, loads of statistics that seemed to mean nothing. The only sex or violence came when a big crime was on the agenda, Simon reported on those. Aral explained that he needed to know the inside details on the cases, so he'd be ready if an appeal came to him. Gregor decided that he'd agree with whatever the appeals court judges decided, until he knew more about all this stuff.

It was the diplomatic briefings that twisted his stomach. Beta Colony, that old-time long friend of Barrayar, did stuff in secret that was - well, wrong -. But everybody closed their eyes to those dirty tricks; Simon explained that if Beta Colony didn't do things, someone else would, and it'd be messier and bloodier. 

"Politics is about maintaining order, getting people who don't agree to leave others alone. Sometimes that meant burning fingers, spanking bottoms, or blowing a hole in the side of a ship."

That's how Uncle Aral described it. 

And all this was his eventual duty. All this, these thousands of bureaucrats and agents, working to tell him how the world really worked, and sometimes, to force changes. 

That usually meant people got killed.

Ugh.

He never threw up during a briefing; he sometimes did afterwards. 

A private toilet was wonderful.

This day's briefing was easy; nobody in the Nexus was being violently stupid, except for some minor pirate action the Hegen Hub was managing. Jackson's Whole was (seemingly) quiet, two medium-sized Houses had just had a dust-up, everybody was cleaning the rubble, and order was being renegotiating. Jackson's whole was a strange place; a planet devoted to crime; but also a place where anything could be bought. The factories on the Whole made some excellent equipment; they made great terraforming machines; He'd approved the purchase of a dozen of them two weeks ago. The newest stuff came from Beta Colony or the Whole; both colonies concentrated on research and development. 'New' meant profit, and both planets wanted that.

Strange.

After the briefing two days after Ivan had come visiting, Gregor decided he'd flex his authority some. Nothing exciting had been presented to him; most was how to plan a new tax policy on ground shipping. Road, Rail, and Water shipping moved most products around Barrayar; flying tons of grain or livestock wasn't economical. Billets of steel, or rolls of sheet aluminum - a flatcar was cheaper than a truck.

All that had to be taxed; by both the Districts (which was decided by the Counts), and by Imperium (which meant Gregor was responsible). Boring, but that's how money came in to pay the bills.

He'd have to sit in on a meeting with people from the Treasury soon, to hear all the dull details, today was a warning for that.

Dull. But needed.

No interesting crimes from Simon, or juicy gossip from the Nexus. Today was dull.

"I want to talk to both of you about something. Two days ago, I know that Lord Miles broke his foot , I hope he's OK."

Aral winced at the mention of the accident. "Miles is doing well, the doctors have his foot on an electrostim machine to strengthen his foot bones. This should protect him in the future, as the newly grown bone is stronger than his natural bone. The doctors plan on doing both feet, to keep things balanced."

"Good. What I am concerned about isn't Miles, but Lord Ivan. It seems he was left alone in the corridor as Miles was rushed to the infirmary, and nothing was done to see he was OK. He wandered around, until he found me here, in my study. He was in a very bad condition; afraid he would be blamed for Mile's accident - which he was not responsible for. Miss Drou - excuse me, Mrs. Koudelka and I comforted him, calmed him down. 

What I want both of you to do is talk with the staff, so if Lord Ivan is involved in one of Mile's emergencies, Ivan gets comforted immediately. He shouldn't have to wander the halls looking for someone who'll comfort him - One of the staff or guards should do it at once. 

He is my cousin, and needs that type of protection as much as Miles.

Would you both do that?"

There. Done. Soft, simple, I've given an order. Wow.

Aral looked at Simon, who glanced back. The gist of the messages back and forth was 'Well, he was going to ask for something someday, at least this is a small thing.'

Simon had a reply. "I'll talk with the guard commander about Lord Ivan. I had a report about Lord Miles's injury, with a mention that Ivan was present. In such cases, perhaps Lord Ivan could be taken to Lady Cordelia, Mrs. Koudelka, or the Head Housekeeper?"

A decision to make. Wow. Uhhhh.....

"Perhaps having Ivan go with Miles to the Infirmary as well, and having Drous - Mrs. Koudelka come to comfort Ivan? Aral, do you have any thoughts?"

"I'll have a talk with the senior Armsman, he has children of his own. A hard rule is excessive, a word in the senior man's ear that Ivan will need comforting should do the trick." Aral, never wanting hard rules when on the spot judgement would work better.

If the man on the spot had a brain...

"OK, that should be fine. He needed a hug and assurance he wasn't to blame - that and a cookie. Now for something else."

Deep breath time.

It's now the tenth anniversary of Count Vordarian's mistake. I don't want any public -events- around it. But there's something that I think I need to do."

Aral and Simon had flinched some at the mention of Vordarian's 'mistake'. It had turned their lives over and given everything a hard, destructive shake. Last year all the damaged buildings had finally been repaired. A new building for the Ministry for Orbital Prospecting and Manufacturing was on the site of the old Ministry of Political Education. The new building looked nothing like the hulking monster that had been there; to the relief of everyone in Vorbarr Sultana.

"When I was in the mountains, hiding with Armsman Esterhazy, the family we stayed with, the Kilbers, had a boy and a girl about my age."

Simon blinked a bit, then filled in the details. "Erskin and Matilda Kilber. The cattle ranch had been started by his grandfather. Fifteen thousand hectares spread across the Dendari range, in both the Vorhalas and Vorkosigan districts, along with some Imperial land. Currently up to date on his taxes."

Gregor shoved on. "Well, yes. The boy, Jerry - Gerald - came with me down the mountain, and went to Impmed for treatment; I think he had tonsillitis and problems with his wisdom teeth, correct?"

"Yes, molars one and two. Treatment was successful. Was returned to his family in Weston, Vorhalas district, where the family home is."

"Ah, yes. Well, the girl, Angie - Angelina - was five, and she was entranced by the Quincenteria party her oldest cousin had. It's a party at fifteen or so, a very big thing for a girl. She talked about it constantly, the party, her cousin's dress - everything.

I, uh, promised to be there for her party."

-There, the cat's out of the bag-

Aral and Simon looked at him almost sideways. -He wanted what???-

"I know, I know, she probably doesn't remember I made the promise. I do.

They knew me as Greg, the city boy. I wasn't special, past my ignorance of how to help on a ranch. Jerry had to show me what chores had to be done; mostly scooping up cow patties and goat berries from the corrals and paddocks. If not that, then Jerry and I ran all over the place, looking at everything. 

Angie liked to talk about life in the city - she wanted to see- to go - to someplace larger than Weston. I didn't promise her that - she must have been absolutely jealous of her brother for his trip here - but I feel I _owe_ her to be at her party."

Aral was grinning, Simon was showing why he was the best poker player in Vorbarr Sultana. Gregor took a deep breath - the end is coming.

"So, Simon, I want you to research when and where the girl's party will be. I expect it'll be in Weston. Places, dates, guest list - you know what you'll want to know. 

Aral, I want to work with you on the planning for the trip. I want to have an idea what happens to put me on the road; how much happens and what it costs. You want me to know what happens in my government; this is a chance for me to learn. Can - No, will you arrange that?"

Aral was almost laughing, his eyes were so bright. Simon, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to tie Gregor to his chair for another three years.

Well, it was done. 

His first orders as Emperor.

And the ceiling hadn't fallen in.


	4. Booklarnin' aont no fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor hit the books. They don't like that, so they hit back.

The next day, Aral left a pile of books - real, hardbound - books with Gregor. "Read, Learn, Study" were his word of instruction. Simon looked at the spines, and showed a momentary feral grin. 

"Oh, yes, enjoy. The wisdom of your ancestors."

Three books. Small, not very thin. The paper was thin, making many, many pages. 'The Bluejacket's manual. The Brownjacket's manual. The Greenjacket's manual.'

'Be afraid, be very afraid' was a small voice in his head. Aral wouldn't have left them for him unless that were very important. 

Little landmines, they seemed to be.

Gregor immediately researched the three books. All three were introductory guides for the military services - Blue for Naval and shipboard personnel, Brown for the Army - the Ground military, Green for the Marines and special raiding units. More than introductions to the specific branch, but references for every common duty and detail that a service member might do. 

Not 'how do you scrub a toilet', but how many times a week, what supplies, and standards. This repeated constantly. How to tie knots, how to put on a pressure suit. How to use CBN test kits.

Security details - how to staff, standard orders, even diagrams of how to escort prisoners. 

He looked at the printing details - the Bluejacket's guide was in it's 750th edition - and the first was dated _1902??_ !

His comconsole beeped, an incoming important message from someone on his 'critical' list.

It was Aral. 

"There isn't a physical edition of this, but you'll learn to know and love and hate this in the Academy. My father has a few physical copies, 

I'll try to get one autographed by him and send it to you. 

Aral."

The attachment was titled:

"The Purple Handbook: General knowledge and procedures for Recruits and trainees.

By General Count Piotr Pierre Vorkosigan, Commandant of the Barrayar Military Academy."

Gregor had heard about this one; it was the BIBLE, the OLD TESTAMENT, the NEW TESTAMENT, the "HOLY OF HOLIES" for cadets at all the Academies. 

If those three books were anything, they were summarized, condensed, and compacted into one text in the Purple Book. If an officer needed to know, it was to the Purple Book he went first, then the Military Code. Tech details were in the Field Manuals; everything else was crammed into the Purple Book.

'Be Afraid, be VERY afraid' repeated the little voice in his head.

He'd asked Aral for a briefing on what happened when he went traveling.... He was now getting that, deep and good.

-whimper-  
=====================

Page after page of information and advice. Directions to officers, Commissioned and non-commissioned, suggesting the 'formal' way to do something.

Four pages on the economics of a company-sized mess.

Three on managing one.

Equipment lists (example) for said mess - ground based and ship based.

His head reeled. Officers have to _know_ this stuff?

-whimper-

What was the Academy _really_ like?

-whimper-

=========================

Aral didn't ask for time with him for a week; There was a two hour gap between his (Arals') mandatory private lunch time (spent with Miles, every day, without fail) and the conference with him every morning.

"My father says there are some hard-bound copies of the Purple Book in the library here, if you'll get one he'll be happy to autograph it for your personal library. How far in did you get before you fell asleep?"

"I skipped around it - what stunned me was the section on running a mess hall. Is that really necessary?"

"An officer is responsible, tho the Non-coms and Enlisted do all the work. The officer is responsible; he's giving the order to do everything, so, yes, that's a needed section. Officers give the orders to act; NCO's give directives to do the work. It's a fine distinction, but a very important one. 

Learn this distinction: Officers get shot for mistakes that NCOs go to prison for. Non-Coms go to prison for things that Enlisted get a bad conduct discharge for. The more responsibility you have the harsher the penalties. In your case, you get hung on a lamppost, along with your ministers. Think about that." 

Gregor did.

At length.

It was about to land on his back. Power - lots of it. Responsibility - lots of it. 

If things went wrong, he'd give the orders to fix it - patch the damage, or create a new set of rules, to prevent another accident. 

But, an idiot who wouldn't read the rule book, who went wild, you can't prevent that. You can try; with lots of training, but every system had to accept - and repair - damage done by idiots.

An insight hit. The idiots can be inside the system, or outside. What do you do about outside idiots?

That's what the Courts did. And the Courts operated by his behest. His orders. 

Another load for his back.

Maybe he should hide in the basement, and not keep his promise.

-whimper-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a copy of the Pre-WW2 Bluejacket's manual, owned by a Naval Academy Graduate. HE gave it to me in his will.
> 
> The section on running a mess is interesting reading - Ever hear of a bread locker?


	5. The plans thicken, like old tapioca.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon adds in his glop onto Gregor's plate.

Simon Illyan, head of the Imperial Security Bureau (which should be a Ministry, but Negri didn't want that, so Simon doesn't either) usually was fast in filling Aral's information requests. Officially, Simon only ran security for the senior people in the Imperium; Ministers, Counts (when they were in Vorbarr Sultana), the Imperial Family and Count Vorbarra's family. If fact, he managed all the security and safety services in the Imperium; the local patrolers took their general instruction from Simon's office; and did Service Security (for the Military) (But he didn't interfere with the Military Adjunct General's operation. They were the Military's' Judicial branch, so hands off). A section of the Treasury that investigated counterfeiters and crimes against the Postal Service was 'Advised' by Simon's office, but officially they were independent. 

Officially.

Ha!

Gregor's simple request took ten days to complete. Simon was annoyed it took that long, until he ran a query on what offenses had come to his desk about Weston, Vorhalas district.

The town had a District Patroler's office, a Wildlife and Forester's office, and a roving medic. It was a very boring, dull town - in the eyes of the Imperium.

Simon liked them for that.

===========================

Simon stayed after the next day's meeting with Gregor. He handed him a thick file; Gregor twitched slightly at the sight of more paperwork. Inside, Simon smiled. 'Welcome to the real world, Emperor M'boy.'

"This is the report on the town of Weston, Vorhalas district, the Kilber family, and the current plans for their girls' upcoming fifteenth birthday party. Included is the guest list, and brief descriptions of the family and guests. The party is scheduled for Junjuly 18th, starting at 1900 at the Beebe Celebration hall. Thirty invitations have been sent, My analyst expect twenty five will accept. 

You should take care to read and memorize the sections on the Kilber family; especially on Mr and Mrs. Kilber. This is a diplomatic function; and they, as much as their daughter, are the hosts and guests of honor. 

Questions?"

"I didn't mean for _me_ to have all this information, Simon. I knew _you_ would need to know, and Aral, to plan the trip, but..."

Simon smiled. !Lesson time!

"Gregor, when you become Emperor your desk will be covered with dossiers like this. Piles of information, to inform and educate your on the background and details of things you, and only you, can decide. Aral has the same collection of briefing, I think I have more than he gets.

Every one of your ministers gets a pile. Every Count, if they really control their Districts, has a pile. It's the method a manager _must_, I repeat _must_ follow to know what is happening away from their personal observation.

Yuri, forfend him and his memory, took a deep interest in the operation of 'His' government; he could speed read, and defined the format of the reports sent to him. He could scan a report in fifteen minutes, cross reading other reports, then issue orders that were concise, terse - and appropriate. He created much of the format and methods of communication we use. 

Emperor Dorca, according to Ezar, would mutter that he'd prefer to face a dozen rebellious counts that fight his way thru the piles of messages that landed on his desk every day. When Yuri went crazy, he decide to reduce the paperwork that came to him by tossing his ministers out a window.

It didn't work.

Aral and I, and all your Ministers, are teaching you how 'Your' Government operates; in small, easy steps. To rule, you need to know what's happened, and how one decision will alter other decisions. Most of your time will be taken by resolving conflicts between different Ministries, or between Counts and Ministries. It's dull, boring, unglamorous work, but that's what being 'Head of State' means.

You asked to know how your trip would be arranged; this brief is a foundation for many, many people. Service Security, Impsec, Transport, Catering, Meterological service, Quartermaster, all of those departments will read this report to gather details to direct their efforts. Where is Weston? Transport needs to know. Quartermaster has to plan lodging, and the supplies the Catering Service will need. Everybody wants to know what the weather will be.

It's all for you that this is done - so read and understand what's in this;" Simon slapped the folder; "to know all that everyone who supports you will know."

Simon had never been so loquacious.

Never.

Aral would go on a tear, filling the room with words; Miles imitated him, but with good reason.

Simon - Silent Simon?

Gregor looked at the file. 

Whimper.


	6. Alpha, Beta, Gamma did she say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Didn't you expect Cordelia to make an appearance?
> 
> Silly rabbit.

Aral scheduled a series of meeting for Gregor every afternoon for two weeks. Each meeting was with a different section or department head, to explain to Gregor what part the branch played in managing Gregor's upcoming trip to attend a young girls Quincerana. Aral neglected to schedule a meeting between Gregor and Cordelia - or Lady Alys.

Some things aren't a man's job in life.

And on the fifth day did a storm come upon the mountain.

=========================

Gregor's current office was a small, square room in the north wing - or branch - of the Residence. Somewhere inside the collection of wings and corridors was the original Residence; that dated to just before the Year of Fire. During the Bloody Centuries, different dynasties had added extensions, wings, courtyards and grand gatehouses to the structure, making it a maze.

This had made killing the current ruler hard; there were so many rooms and passages to search, and a multitude of ways to run away.

Safety by obscurity.

Gregor had tried to visit every corridor in the building, with a good try at finding every room. It seemed like passageways mixed themselves around every night; spawning new connections when not seen. Miles, Ivan, and Elena continued his work; with three - in some places four - floors to explore, they stayed busy.

And entertained...

Lady Alys and Lady Cordelia appreciated that. With Bothari as escort; they stayed under supervision; unless they found a secret passage.

Once, the threesome were 'lost' for two days. They had snacks and water with them; and they found access to at least one WC. Aral was undisturbed. Cordelia sighed. Lady Alys glared. Bothari was embarrassed.

When the threesome finally emerged, they were all grinning and excited with their discoveries. 

Until Uncle Simon had a 'conversation' with them.

Then Lady Alys had her say.

No desserts for a week was the least punishment; the menu was heavy on Sprouts, Spinach, Eggplant. and Oatmeal.

And the drawer in Aral's desk that held his stash of cookies was locked.

============================

Gregor was deep in the report on Weston when the announcement buzzer on his desk sounded. He flicked the intercom switch; his assistant said "Redhead incoming, clear the decks".

Cordelia. 

He'd been waiting for her visit, Lady Alys had come after He'd asked - ordered - Aral and Simon to consider Ivan's care when he was in the Residence. Her visit had been half thank you for minding Ivan, and half 'Are you serious about going to see that girl?'. Telling Alys that he wanted to keep his promise had been the real nail committing him to the trip; she'd had a look in her eye that said 'Are you Serious? If you are, be serious about it.'

What she was doing in the background Gregor was happy to be ignorant. Aral and Simon had loaded his desk, what Alys was doing would add to his efforts. Ignorance, properly managed, was bliss.

Cordelia was coming, unstoppable and energetic. Gregor was learning that energetic, applied to Government, wasn't a needful thing. Government should be boring; bureaucrats moving paperwork in a slow, constant manner; no emergencies, no accidents, no surprises. 

Government doesn't 'do' emergencies well.

Emergencies mean decisions have to be made; plans altered. This means changing processes; making choices.

Bureaucrats don't like changing things.

He was beginning to understand that mentality.

His trip wasn't the upset Gregor thought it would be. People have to travel, Emperors are people, so plans are on record for managing the upsets of travel; it was a non-emergency emergency, if that makes sense. 

Cordelia was an all-out Emergency in every bureaucratic way. She didn't consider what ordered plans were twisted into toruses, she didn't care is budgets were turned to confetti.

Ministers and Permanent Secretaries would cry - tears or pen ink - when she involved herself in something. He methods of solving process impasses were operationally as nasty as her riposte to Count Vordarian.

"You can't do that!" was sliced away by the sound of her escort, Major Koudelka, releasing the catch on his sword stick.

Bureaucrats move fast when escaping.

Gregor knew he wasn't escaping Cordelia today.

========

Cordelia swept into his chamber, dress swirling around her. She had her hair in its usual style, gathered in two sweeping groups held in enameled combs falling on her shoulders and down her back. 

She had once said, in Gregors' hearing, that one of the pleasures of being planet bound was that she could wear her hair long and free. On a ship, she had to wear it short and tight, to be safe in a helmet. He hadn't understood the deeper meaning of that until much later, after his first trip to an orbital station. He had to wriggle into a pressure suit, as part of the safety drill; all tight fabric and pinching seams. The helmet, like a bucket on his head, with no room for anything - and no way to push his hair back away from his face.

The station had been like that; always too tight in some way. No matter how large, it was always life with limits - a wall or door too close, a sign or pipe blocking the way.

Gregor understood Cordelia wearing her hair long and free in a flash afterwards, she was free of all those limits she'd had on ship, or on Beta Colony, living here on Barrayar:

He rose as she approached; She gave him a peck on the cheek after he bowed over her hand. She got the tea service out from where it was kept, there was a kettle steaming (to add humidity, officially) on a far filing cabinet. 

"Miles is fine, the cast on his foot should come off tomorrow. Heaven knows what he'll break next - I expect it'll be something unusual, and for an impossible reason."

"That may become his motto, 'Unexpected, for impossible reasons" said Gregor, as they settled into their chairs. "He's learning how to do impossible things just by living. Aral had said the Doctors were using electrostim on both feet, to toughen the bones. Is it working?"

Cordelia smiled; "The doctors seem to think it is; If this works, they want to start treating the rest of his major bones - Arms, Legs, Spine - to protect him from more injury. His bones resist calcification; the electrostim should counter that."

"I hope it does. But, to other things. You didn't come to give me Miles's medical report. May I presume it's about this trip I'm wanting to take?"

Cordelias' smile widened; "Yes, Lady Alys has told me some of the details, and Aral a bit more. You made a girl a promise when you were in the mountains, and now you want to keep it. Quite gentlemanly."

"But if I just show up - will she remember? Me walking in to her party- I mean." Gregor was squiring in his chair; "It's a special day for her, and me just walking in will..."

"Will take all the attention from her, and she'll be forgotten. Her perfect day, ruined." Cordelia finished.

"Well, That's what I don't want to happen. I guess I want to go just as Greg, the city boy who remembered his promise, not The Emperor, or emperor to be, smashing everything flat. But I don't know how."

"Ah, which of you is making this trip; You, the Count, or the Emperor. Hard to decide, sometimes." Cordelia took a sip of her tea.

"Aral, and Piotr, have the same problem. Are they meeting someone as Regent, or Count, or General, or Admiral, or local landowner? It doesn't do to mix those positions when analyzing a problem; It's not fair to use a higher position to solve a smaller problem; size the hammer to the nut, unless you want nothing but a smear on the table."

"Well, Yeh, that's it. I'm afraid If I go to her party I'll embarrass her, ruining it for her. I wish I could stop being Emperor-to-be and just go as myself." Gregor tried never to whine, but it broke out in those last words.

Cordelia looked on with sympathy. "It's good you're thinking of her feeling, Gregor, It's her day, her time to be important; her time in the spotlight. You don't want to outshine her, to take her out of the spotlight. Right?"

"Yes; it's her day, and I don't want to steal it from her." Gregor was hunched over his desk; he'd not thought in full his conflict about keeping his promise; it was mixed with a complex strand of fear he had, 'Who am I to be emperor? I'm just a boy, not someone like Aral, or Piotr, or Simon - they are big, and I'm not worthy. I'm a fake, who am I to be emperor?' 

Cordelia put her hand on his shoulder. "Gregor, you can put a limit on who you are when you make this trip. You can go as Count Vorbarra, not as emperor-to-be; You can choose who's making the trip, did you know that?"

Gregor looked at her at an angle; "I can choose who I am?" 

"Aral does it all the time. Sometimes he's Regent, for other meetings he's his father's heir, then other times he's Admiral Aral Vorkosigan, recently of HMS Kyrill Island. It makes a huge difference when he's meeting people. and making deals. Want to now how he does it?"

Gregor straightened in his chair, turning to face Cordelia in full. "What does he do, change uniforms?"

"Almost. It starts with how he introduces himself. When taking to Ministers, he's Regent Vorkosigan, in full and in person. Other times, he's introduced as Admiral Aral Vorkosigan - and the Aral is an important part of the trick - when he's talking with the General Staff. Haven't you seen him at the Long Lake; talking with people from Surleau? He's always just Lord Aral; to put the point he's talking for his father, not as someone else. 

I did the same thing back in the Betan Exploratory corp - when we visited a planet, I was Captain of the ship; Diplomat from Beta, and Mother to most of the crew all at the same time. We call it 'Switching Hats' in the trade."

Gregor winced; he'd seen Aral and Simon 'change' themselves when they met different people at parties and meetings; He'd not grasped that he could do the same. "Can I be 'only' Count Vorbarra? Can I be 'just' Gregor Vorbarra?"

That's what I was to Miles, Ivan and Elena - I was Gregor. Lady Alys and Cordelia treated me as something else than a Count - certainly not as Emperor-to-be... most of the time. Aral was formal to me, usually; so was Simon.

The ministers still ignored me; Aral was their target. They bowed to me, at the beginning and end of meetings, but what I said wasn't heard. Being ignored was rude.

But they wanted decisions, and Aral made those. I swear most of them would be dead or retired before I became twenty-two, so they wouldn't have to learn how to respect me....

Cordelia saw me brooding inside. "Caught between being too young and being ignored?"

"Yea; I'm not listened to, and that's got to change. I feel like these stacks of paper I'm being sent about how this trip is supposed to be is a fake; it's not to tell me what's happening, it's intended to stun me so I shut up and do what I'm told - by them; whoever 'them' is."

She didn't smile; to her credit. I'd have screamed if she'd smiled. She took me seriously; -She listened-.

"You can't fight a bureaucracy; all you can do is ride it and poke it to change it's direction. If it's not going where you want; push and pull to change its direction. Trying to see how every muscle works as it crawls along won't tell you anything; first, do you know who you'll go as?"

"Go as?"

"Which of your three personalities will you be when you're at this girls party? As Emperor, as Count Vorbarra, or as city boy Gregor, from far-off Vorbarr Sultana?"

"I can choose?"

"You choose, then you tell people who you'll be. Once they know, everything will shift to match what you want. You have to be polite; and not insult anyone; but a simple sentence - to Aral or Simon - that you don't want to be going as Emperor - or just saying you want this to be an informal visit - and see what happens. If they don't know, they assume the hardest option, and that's what they plan for.

So, if you send the girl's parents a letter, reminding them that you'd promised to come to her party, long ago when you were staying with them; and that -YOU- Gregor Barra - hope to attend - then you've set the tone for the visit. It's that simple."

"Just a letter - showing it to Aral and Simon first?"

She smiled; "Yes, write it out longhand, then show it to Aral. He'll know what to do; Have your Secretary print it on Vorbarra stationary; sign it just with 'Gregor'; and let the Imperial Post Service do the rest. Then, you'll see how the plans change; as word spreads that this isn't a formal visit, but a informal one. All from you writing a letter asking for an invitation."

'It was that easy? Certainly not!'

She could see me wince again. It was hard to swallow; that all I had to do was write a simple letter to control all those people under me... How does all this stuff work?

"Kid - when I became a Ship's Second Officer I learned - hard and fast - how to make a bureaucracy do what I wanted. The Captain told me what he - Captain Bellue - wanted, and it was my job to make it happen. I'd graduated from _doing things_ as a junior officer, changing into be someone who ordered - by asking - for things to be done. Unless I hit a bureaucrat who didn't want to do their job; then I had to get devious - the machine just needed a clear word to start rolling automatically. 

You're in those shoes now - the machine will do what you want, most of the time - if they know, plainly and simply - what you want. That's it. Ask for specific things, and you'll get them. Get confusing, and they'll fight you all the way. So, now, what do you want? Do you want to go with all the pomp and finery, or just slip into town silent as a breeze? The machine will arrange either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to arrive. Getting it written was half the problem, deciding what to say was the other half.
> 
> He'll get his dance.


	7. My man, he wrote me a letter...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fine art of composing... to avoid being composted.

Draft one:

Gregor Vorbarra, Count  
The Residence  
Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar 1001011

Dear Mrs. and Mrs. Kilber;

Ten years ago, you hosted me and Armsman Esterhazy during the Vordarian rebellion. You took a risk offering myself and the Armsman a refuge; Count Vordarian's troops were searching everywhere they could discover in their attempt to find Vorbarra loyalists.

Armsman Esterhazy presented me as being the son of one of his fellow Armsman; a useful deception. At the time, I didn't know the need to hide who I was; the shock from being separated from my mother, and the slow, agonizing death of Captain Negri, were disturbing my dreams. I needed a place where I could be 'normal'; without demands being laid on me - and in your hospitality and generosity I could recover.

Looking back on that time; I think you knew who I really was - not the son of a Vorkosigan Armsman, but I was _The Vorbarra_; The son of Sergi Constantine Vorbarra, the Grandson of Ezar Kristatos Vorbarra - and the great-great Grandson of Dorca Constantine Vorbarra.

I think I'm the first Vorbarra in a dozen generations who has shoveled pig muck, or cleaned horse stalls.

When I was under your roof (I mean that literally, Jerry and I climbed up into the rafters many times, to hide from chores... sorry, Gerald, for admitting our great secret!) I wandered everywhere, with Gerald and Angelina (when you didn't put us to chores - like cleaning the pigpen!), we poked our noses into everything. Gerald and Angie explained how the ranch worked; I tried to describe what life in Vorbarr Sultana was like; they taught me a lot. I don't know how much of what I told them they believed; Gerald learned I wasn't exaggerating when he went to ImpMed to have his tonsils out!

Angie and I sat on the porch on many evenings, waiting for dinner, talking and - well - trying to flirt. I hadn't been allowed to be with many girls my age at the Residence; Angelina fascinated me; i think i did the same to her - this exotic boy from so far away, who lived in a big city and knew all these amazing things - I'd seen all those women in their fancy dresses; I must have been incredible.

She filled my ear with descriptions of her older sister's - Amelia, I think it was - Quincentari party, which had been earlier that year. The dresses! The party decorations! The dances! How wonderful all the young men looked - especially the three who were on leave from the Army; how they looked in their Red and Blue uniforms!

She described to me how she wanted her Quncenteria party to be... and I said I'd come. I promised I'd come.

Her party is a few months away, and I want to keep that promise. 

Things are different, ten years later. I'm now more than 'Greg' the city boy; I live under a layer of identities - Gregor the young man; Count Vorbarra, Administrator and ruler of a district; Emperor-to-be Gregor Vorbarra - and a few more if we add in my military and diplomatic titles. (My calling card should be 30 Cm on a side to hold all my titles!)

If I may ask, might I be invited to Angelina's party? The invitation should be (I think this is the right protocol) sent just to 'Gregor Vorbarra, The Residence, Vorbarr Sultana); no title, no styles; just to me - so I'm being invited, not any of the extra people I seem to be.

You'll be contacted by ImpSec (imperial Security; probably not my Captain Illyan himself - tho he'll get all the reports directly, he takes his job of keeping me safe very seriously) to arrange details of my visit. I'd like to go to Lorencita Camp if I can - (but not to shovel out the pig pens!) - to show some people I know what the place is like. 

Please don't tell Angie I'm coming; I want this to be a surprise. She promised me the first dance (after her Da's, of course), I want it to be a surprise.

Yours;

Greg with a skinned knee.

===============================

Gregor:

Your draft of your letter to the Kilbers is from your heart. It asks, politely, in all the right ways.

From a prole to another, or a minor Vor, it would be proper, but you have considerations you do not understand. Anything you write will be examined with a ferocity by people with a strong intention to bring you trouble. 

To such a mind, you are showing signs of a romantic desire to this girl - perhaps reasonable just thinking of your ages; but between a rural prole and the highest Vor? Trouble quadrupled.

Please confer with Lady Alys for suggestions on how to compose letters like this that will say what you desire, but avoid ammunition freshly made for your opponents.

Yours;

Aral VK.

=====================

Sire:

I've glanced at your proposed letter the the Kilbers; my concern is that directly mentioning Impsec will alarm the couple unnecessarily. When they read that you wish to visit, they will know your security service will be calling; no need to bring this forward in such a plain manner.

Lady Alys has experience in the composition of missives announcing visits, her advice will be educational.

Your Servant;

Simon Illyan, Captain

======================

Gregor:

Aral has shown me your initial draft. It certainly from the heart; it needs some minor alterations to say what you need it to say.

First, the opening paragraphs are quite nice. You show respect in acknowledging your debt to them, and how they risked much in taking you into their home. Mentioning Captain Negri's death is not in keeping with the spirit of this letter, best that it be removed.

The genealogy lesson is superfluous; It might be needed where you to be writing to a senior Vor or Nexus leader who needs a reminder of your authority, it's to heavy for this message.

Your mention of chores is personal - a bit too personal.

Your description of how you and Gerald (a wonderful little boy; I visited him in the hospital and he was a delight!) spent your time is precious; but mention of activities that risked you safety can be mis-read by others. Playing hide-and-seek on the ground might be better.

Expressing to much attraction for Elizabeth in this letter is daring - and risky. Tone this description down; You aren't planning to propose to the girl - I presume! Mention of romantic activities are easily misused.

Never mention Impsec at any time! they work best in an umbra of uncertainly; people will know they are around you, so don't make their task harder by mentioning them. (I expect Simon has already mentioned this to you!)

I await your next draft!

Lady Alys Vorpatril; Social Secretary to the Imperial Residence.

========================

Draft two

Gregor Vorbarra, Count  
The Residence  
Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar 1001011

Dear Mrs. and Mrs. Kilber;

Ten years ago, you hosted me and Armsman Esterhazy during the Vordarian rebellion. You took a risk offering myself and the Armsman a refuge; Count Vordarian's troops were searching everywhere they could discover in their attempt to find Vorbarra loyalists.

Armsman Esterhazy presented me as being the son of one of his fellow Armsman; a useful deception. At the time, I didn't know the need to hide who I was; I needed a place where I could be 'normal'; and in your hospitality and generosity I had that.

When I was under your roof I wandered everywhere, with Gerald and Angelina (when you didn't put us to chores - like sweeping the floors!), we poked our noses into everything. Gerald and Angie explained how the ranch worked; I tried to describe what life in Vorbarr Sultana was like; they taught me a lot. I don't know how much of what I told them they believed; Gerald learned I wasn't exaggerating when he went to ImpMed to have his tonsils out!

Angie and I sat on the porch on many evenings, waiting for dinner, talking. I was this exotic boy from so far away, who lived in a big city and knew all these amazing things - I'd seen parties filled with women in their fancy dresses, all the fancy dances; I must have been incredible.

She filled my ear with descriptions of her older sister's - Amelia, I think it was - Quincentari party, which had been earlier that year. The dresses! The party decorations! the dances! How wonderful all the young men looked - especially the three who were on leave from the Army; how they looked in their Red and Blue uniforms!

She described to me how she wanted her Quncenteria party to be... and I said I'd come. I promised I'd come.

Her party is a few months away, and I want to keep that promise. 

If I may ask, might I be invited to Angie's party? The invitation should be sent just to 'Gregor Vorbarra, The Residence, Vorbarr Sultana); no title, no styles; just to me - so I'm being invited, in my own right.

Please don't tell Angie I'm coming. She promised me the first dance (after her Da's, of course), I want it to be a surprise.

Yours;

Greg with a skinned knee.

==========================

From the desk of Lord Aral Vorkosigan:

Much better - it could be tighter, but it's now direct and still informal.

If Lady Alys has no suggestions send it!

Aral.

============================

From the desk of Lady Alys Vorpatril

Gregor:

This second draft is much better; tighter, more direct, but still personal. The details of your time with them provides an informality that is appropriate for you at this time - might we have some time in the next few weeks to confer on how letters like this should be drafted?

Your loving aunt;

Lady A.


	8. Taken to the woodshed....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor gets an earful - and a headache.

Everything was planned.

Gregor had a flimsy in hand that listed where, when, and whom he'd be seeing on the trip. He'd described to Aral and Simon his idea for the trip; first to the little village he'd been found by Piotr - Tollson's Post - then up to the Kilber's place at Lorencita, then down to Weston, to attend the party.

Aral suggested that he then make an official visit to Vorhalas's official residence, to balance all the visits he'd made to Piotr's summer residence on the Long Lake. "Let Justin host you for a few days; he'll enjoy the honor. It's a nice place; Rulf invited me several ties, back when. Their cook at the time made the most exquisite cinnamon rolls and other baked goods." 

Aral also had him officially ask Piotr and Justin Vorhalas for permission to visit their land; a courtesy between Counts. He had his secretary make appointment with both men to meet him after the next session of the Council of Counts, in his suite in Vorhartung; it was something of neutral ground between Gregor the Emperor-to-be and Gregor the Count. He'd figured that out himself; watching Aral do some delicate negotiations on a bill to change how Proles could move between districts; Aral had to switch between being Regent and being Count's heir - and Admiral - since the Military had a finger in the matter (when a service member was discharged, he could choose where he was separated from the service. He'd then have to choose the Count he'd swear to; breaking any bonds he had with his original count. Tricky, this...).

The visit with Piotr went fast. 

"Count, I'd like to visit the places Esterhazy and I went to when I was up in the hills. Do you mind?"

"Certainly not! Happy for you to visit the district. Would you like Esterhazy to come with you? I'm sure he'd like to say hello to everyone again."

"I wasn't going to ask him, but if he'd like to come, I'd be happy for him to accompany me. Simon won't mind, if you don't."

"Be better for you to have one of my men with you; I'll detail him to you for the visit."

"Ah - that you; but if he doesn't want to go -"

"Nonsense! He'll be happy to go with you. "

"I was thinking it might be some trouble, since I'll be in Vorhalas's district as well as you own. I made a promise to - well; I made a promise, and I'm planning to keep it."

"Oh, ho! Was she pretty?"

"Not saying, uncle. Not saying..."

======================

Vorhalas was harder; Gregor knew he'd have to be approached carefully. He wouldn't refuse Gregor permission to enter his district, but he could be offended if the asking was done wrong.

Gregor stood as Count Vorhalas was ushered into his small conference room adjacent to the Council Chamber. "Count Vorhalas - thank you for seeing me. I have a small request to make to you, if I might."

"Certainly, my liege. May I?" The Count gestured to one of the chairs.

"Yes, please." Gregor sat quickly, to allow the Count to sit.

Gregor braced himself. "We've come to the tenth anniversary of - ah - Vordarien's mistake, when I was hidden in the Dendarii's by Count Piotr's men. While I was hidden, I met the daughter of a ranching family, and, well, promised her that I'd dance with her at her fifteenth birthday party - her Quincerana, i think it's called. She's now fifteen, so I want to keep that promise. Her family lives, is based, out of Weston, in your district, so I want your permission to visit Weston and the Kilbers, so I can attend her party, and keep my promise."

-There, I've said it. Count Vorhalas will keep this private, at least.- thought Gregor.

Count Vorhalas had stiffened at the reminder of Vordarien's treason; but he leaned in as Gregor explained his request. "Made a promise to a gel, did you? The two of you, sitting on a porch at sunset, watching the sun go down? Feeling her hand in yours, wondering if you could steal a kiss? Was that it?"

"Almost, it was at noon, after she'd told me about her Sisters - maybe her cousin's - Quincerana from the previous year. It seemed the right thing to do; me being this boy from the city, from the flatlands. Her mother was just inside, in the kitchen; I wouldn't have dared to kiss her."

"Did you try for one later?"

"Ah - " Gregor squirmed some in his chair; "Either Esterhazy or her parents kept a strong eye on me.... I didn't really have a chance. Sir."

"Well, you were a bit young... that came close to how I kissed my first girl, but that was far away, and long ago. Yes, please keep your promise, at your pleasure, Sire. I hope you get your dance... and and a bit more." The Count stood. Gregor rose with him. "Please inform my secretary of your exact plans; dates, places, and such, when everything's finalized. I try to send a gift to every girl who's having a Quincerana party; when they come to my attention. I'll certainly want to send her a little gift, to mark the occasion."

"Sir;" Gregor added; "I'm planning to visit several placed in the Dendarii range that I visited when I was up there - so I've also asked Count Vorkosigan's permission as well. He's given me his blessing as well, and offered me an escort, if I want it; I'd be happy to have an escort when I'm on your land, in your district, if you'd care to offer it. 

I'll have Impsec with me, anyway, but having several of your game wardens, or foresters, would be helpful. If you might?"

"Certainly, Sire - Gregor - Certainly. Piotr'll be offering you an escort - some fellows who know how to travel in the mountains, ones who can pour piss out of a boot without instructions on a boot heel. I can hardly do less. Let my man know your itinerary, and I'll have men to meet you wherever you like. It's my pleasure and privilege to help you keep your promise to the young lady" 

Count Vorhalas bowed to Gregor.

"Ah - Yes - Thank you Count, I'm finalizing the details of the trip with the Regent and Captain Illyan today; I'll send the details to your secretary by tomorrow. Thank you for your kindness."

Vorhalas retook his chair. He started to look stern, then relaxed. "Gregor - My emperor - might I speak with you frankly?"

"Um, yes, please."

Justin settled back in his chair. "You've been raised by Aral and Cordelia; they've seen to your education - however..."

"Yes?"

"Between the two of them, there's not a full Barrayaran in sight. Aral is a quarter Betan, from his Grandmother, the Princess; and Cordelia is full to the brim Betan. A concern many of my fellow Counts have is that you've not absorbed in full measure the feelings and values that've developed here over the last centuries; not really _felt_ the underlying reasons for many of our customs and laws. To Cordelia; our history is a odd set of accidents; like the plot of some long-running vid drama. Piotr has all that history in his bones; but have -you- felt, in the depths of our soul, all the tragedies we suffered once the wormhole closed?"

Justin drew a breath.

"Beta Colony had their own time in the fire - with a sixty year round trip to Earth; they had to find a balance between freedom and survival - between personal liberty and the survival of the colony. How the did it shapes them now; it shaped Cordelia, and Prince Xav's wife. but the answers they found aren't the answers our forefathers found - Cordelia knows in her bones that the answers Beta found must be right - but she doesn't know _why_ she has that feeling.

I spent three years in Solstice, back when I was a Captain; soon after the Ceta's left. We Barrayarans were heroes to the Betans; victors against the tyranny and oppression of an invader." Count Vorhalas leaned his elbows on the table. "We were heroes, but we were less than perfect heroes from our back-water behaviors. Beta had never had an invader rule it's corridors - Regimentation and militarization was a defect - an error of a choice - that they could not ignore. Betan's regiment, in their way, as seriously as we do, but all their emergency drills and safety precautions draw invisible lines that bound their lives. Our obvious regimentation, in military service - and supporting the Vor class - irritated them."

Gregor leaded uncomfortably in his chair. Cordelia had described Beta in admiration - he'd not heard it described in caustic terms by anyone who he respected.

Count Vorhalas smiled thinly. "Beta went through it's years of fire waiting for the supply ships to return from Earth - and those scars or deprivation of survival are remembered - they don't match their 'burns' to the ones we suffered - They had some hope they'd see another freighter convoy appear; we knew they wouldn't come. Whatever Cordelia's told you, Beta colony isn't a paradise; it's got it's secrets and hidden history. You'll be learning that, soon enough - and when you compare those stories to our own - what our forefathers - and foremothers! did was to survive - just like the culling of artists on Beta - not something they speak of, these days - or the flooding of the Kandahar flats on Escobar - or the real story of how Jackson's Whole became what it is today. 

We pretend - diplomatically - that Beta Colony is wonderful; and it's the preferred place for Diplomats and Envoys to gather; to jaw-jaw their way out of a conflict; and the Betan's like to support that illusion; but it's a fantasy that every government maintains. Jackson's Whole survives because it's useful to everyone - and it's not as pestilential as Beta colony likes to scream. They had their feet held to the fire themselves, and the solution they developed looks a lot like our solution - their Barons look a lot like our Counts - and they've got their own analog to our system of Vor - you have to look close, but it's there.

Things like this are about to hit your plate, Sire - and you might do well to sit alone with Captain Illyan and his staff to hear what the Nexus is really like - Warts, carbuncles, saddle sores and cankers in the open for all to see."

Count Justin leaned in close. "We conservatives remember the burns we've suffered; and fear the burns and injuries the progressives are intent on inflicting on us. Change isn't always a wonderful thing - the arrival of that first survey ship back in Dorca's day was both a blessing - and a catastrophe. The Cetas' came promising wonders - and look at what Vorkosigan Vashnoi is today. Aral Vorkosigan admires the possibly perfect future, he's a rebel who listened to stories of wonder about Beta at his Grandmother's knee - seeing a wonderful city in the clouds; but he, and Cordelia, don't ask what keeps the city floating. I think on that - constantly."

"I've taken to much of you time, Sire; If I may take my leave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to post, but I had to work out what Count Vorhalas would want to say to Gregor in private. Gregor is beginning to learn the real price of running a government - all the unhappy compromises that exists - and Justin Vorhalas is a perfect person to start that education.


	9. Gregor muses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor does some thinking...

Gregor spent the evening after his talk with Count Vorhalas thinking.

Vorhalas's District is the complement of the Vorkosigans', being on the other side of the mountains. They compete in some industries - Forestry, Maple production, Wines, Livestock, but suffer from all the same economic troubles.

Vorhalas didn't lose a major hunk of his district to a Ceta nuke, and there's at least one major spaceport close to his district -Tanery base-, but the costs of terraforming land hobbles the Districts' economic growth.

He's more hands-on with his district that the Vorkosigans, having left the Military many years ago; unlike Piotr or Aral. The loss of his sons, leaving him only his daughters, blocks his future planning as the Vorkosigan's are blocked by Miles - who will inherit?

Piotr's role as a military leader forced him to be 'Progressive'; to defeat the Cetas; then he remained so as he oversaw the development of a modern military for Barrayar under Yuri and Ezar. Justin was able to stay at home and concentrate on the district and it's needs; unlike Piotr, so his district has grown more then the Vorkosigan's. Every advancement won at a high cost, and the scars from all the battles that were fought in and around the Dendarii range have been hard to rebuild.

Vorhalas was important to the Empire; a glare from him in chambers would still any but the most insensitive Counts. He laid down the law, paved it, and hand painted the centerline. He'd been on Ezar's command during the the Ceta war, then spent several years on Beta working for Prince Xav. People had forgotten his time away; working with Betans and Escobarans and Old Earthers - and some Cetagandans - introducing Barrayar to the Nexus as a free and independent planet. 

He wasn't a Progressive, nor a reactionary, like old Vorfratrifani - He'd helped push some bills thru that advanced law in silent cooperation with Regent Aral; his public refusal to block the update to the law about proles shifting district loyalties was an unspoken, but obvious sign of his support for civic authority. 

Gregor realized Justin was right... He needed to know - and be known - to people that weren't part of the Vorkosigan political swirl. He needed his own social swirl - his own club. He had to have his own friends; from people he'd met himself, without the chivying of Aral or Cordelia.

Not only Vor, but Proles also - he'd be swearing in Armsmen, very soon - and Auditors, and lots of other people. He'd be meeting lots of his contemporaries when he went in to Academy - most of them would be Vor, or sons of twenty year men; the only ordinary prole he really knew was Kou and Drou, but they were tight with the Vorkosigans. 

How did the bulk of the population live? what did they do? How did they live?

Finding out would be important if he was to rule and govern; keeping the proles happy was important; but how was he to know what made them happy.. or upset?

Elena.

Bothari's daughter. 

She'd know what. 

================

Elena usually was at Vorkosigan House; where her father lived. She went to Princess and Countess Olivia Vorbarra Vorkosigan school for Arts and Humanities, being walked there and back daily by one of the Armsmen - accompanied by the other children (excluding Miles) who lived there with their parents. Gregor knew most of them; from the many days he'd spent at Vorkosigan house. They freely mingled with the children from the other nearby count's residences; who the Count was wasn't important. That their father or mother or aunt or uncle worked for a high Vor mattered - they were, in some manner, elevated above other Prole children - at least in their eyes. 

The few times Gregor had been allowed to 'slip the leash' and play and mix with them, he'd said he was with the Vorkosigans, or Vorpatrils - implying his father was an Armsman who usually was at the district. When he mentioned getting cookies from the Residence kitchen, he got a few oohs and aahs; then an argument started as to which house Kitchen had the best cookies and brownies. 

He was accepted.

Cordelia and Alys didn't allow him to escape to the school playground much; his day had been tutors, physical training with men from Impsec and the Armsmen; Drou sneaked in some lessons on the sly; or so it seemed. Miles and Ivan he saw almost every day; eventually (mainly with Drou's help) he had playtime with children of the senior residence staff. 

It was a safe, controlled world; but an isolated one.

It was time, Gregor decided, that that isolation end. He needed, he decided, to discover what Barrayar was like - the real Barrayar, away from the Residence, or Vorhartung Castle, or Vorbarr Sultana itself. This trip to keep his promise to the Kilber's daugter would be the first - never the last.

Of the children he really knew, Elena was the oldest, it seemed. She was unlike Miles (no one was like Miles), or Ivan - she was just that bit older, that bit non-Vor, that made her like Drou and Kou; on the other side of an invisible wall; the wall defined by the word 'Vor'. She, she knew the world outside of the Residence; she knew the world out on the street.

Gregor realized that he needed to bring her with him on this trip to Weston.

He'd need to get Bothari to approve Elena's going on a trip without him; Miles was not being invited on this - neither was Ivan - so Bothari wouldn't be there to escort Elena. 

Hmmm....

Gregor didn't really want Lady Alys to come with him; but it was Alys or Cordelia - and Cordelia would be eager to go, to see more of Barrayar. But Cordelia on Vorhalas's land could cause trouble - not as bad as if Aral went!

Count Piotr could be his escort; he'd bring Esterhazy along; Lady Alys as an escort. Justin wasn't _that_ upset with Piotr, and they could talk about mountain matters and council affairs without arguing. There was a big reclamation effort being planned off to the far west; well away from the Dendarii mountains; but it'd need supplies they could sell to the project.

Simon would insist on a half-dozen as escorts; plus others who'd stay hidden. Invite Simon? Hmmm... that could be interesting. Simon seemed to live only inside of Impsec HQ; dragging him out of that shell could be fun..

So, talk to Bothari and get his permission to invite Elena. check with Lady Alys for her agreeing to come along. Ask Simon if he'd like to come; Piotr had already agreed to be with him - so that included Esterhazy as well. He'd need to tell Vorhalas that Piotr would be escorting him; Justin'd want to come as well, to have a chance to talk with me privately.

That meant six core people; add in another six from Impsec, and another six people from the staff here at the Residence. plus more that Piotr or Justin would bring. 

Plus Me!

So, eighteen or twenty to go camping in the woods; plus horses and mules. A week on the Vorkosigan side of the mountains, another week on Justin's side. Ending up in Weston for Angelina's party.

There - a plan for the trip. Aral and Simon would change it to fit; but he'd created a plan for everyone to work from.

Gregor wrote the plan out longhand; making a list of the people he needed to talk too (even thought Aral would be doing the real planning, he knew). Simon had told him when the party would be - back up two weeks from that, and that'd be the day he'd set for leaving VBS.

First thing: Talk to Bothari, then Lady Alys. Cordelia would want a word with him, put her off until after he'd talked with Bothari and Alys. 

Gregor realized, as he looked at his notes, that he didn't have to make the fiddly small plans; all he really had to do was say when everything started, and who would be coming - and the staff did the rest. He didn't have to order bread to get a sandwich; he just had to say what kind of sandwiches he liked, and the kitchen would do the rest. Same thing for this trip; he decides, others do.

Somehow, being Emperor didn't seem so hard, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this one out; between the holidays and stuff, what I'd planned for this chapter didn't gel. I know where I'm going... but the road didn't go where I thought it would.

**Author's Note:**

> Gregor is sixteen or seventeen.
> 
> This is the follow-on to "Returning Home"


End file.
